better a mile wide than an inch deep

Well, this was a long and hard day. We had a call with a consultant in Florida at 8am, which went well but I had to be a lot sharper than I like to be at that time. I had everything ready to go so when we hung up I jumped in the car and headed to Mother's.

Actually, first I went to Costco for gas but for some reason the pump couldn't read my Costco card and I couldn't find an attendant. With the gas warning light flickering I headed to the next gas station and then, tank full, finally to Mother's.

She was grumpy and said she hadn't slept well. I helped her dress and made her bed, then hung up her clean clothes. My sister called and we chatted, and then Mother and I went into the garden before it got too warm. She dozed in her chair most of the time, which -- looking back -- I should have taken more seriously.

Webster came and we took her out to lunch, something she normally loves. She ate some of her soup and drank all of her g&t, and then we headed back. When I pulled up in front of her place so Webster could help her into her wheelchair and I could park, she said, "Wait! I'm not sure I can drive home." Things went downhill from there. I got her to her room, but she was so confused. We talked for a long time and I hugged her, and we both cried. She's losing her words but she explained that her memory doesn't work and she can't think as well. Both of these things are true but goddammit, why does she have to be aware of them? What do I say? I told her the truth, that it's really scary and I'm scared. She asked me about all kinds of things -- for example, she told me she had two sons. I think she was remembering her younger brothers (both long since dead), but who knows. Who knows anything.

Finally came home, though I stopped at the nurse's station and told them that I'd never seen her this confused. Webster and I have decided that we fucked up and when she tells us she's tired, to really listen to her and not assume she means just tired. Losing her words is one part of the problem, but the social worker and geriatrician told us that dementia patients lose the ability to identify what's wrong -- are they in pain? Thirsty? So who knows what "tired" meant to her today.

I ran to the gym and worked out on the treadmill because I felt I needed to burn off some energy, took a quick shower, and then headed back to the assisted living facility for a dinner that's held every other month for the family of residents. It's a time for the administration and staff to let us know about any changes or things happening, and for us to ask questions. Toward the end of the evening, the manager asked me if I had anything and big tears rolled down my face as I said, "My mother's failing." Oh my gosh, I was embarrassed. The social worker gave me a big hug, and after the meeting the admission person was crying and hugged me, then the lead nurse . . . It felt good to have all these people concerned about Mother and me, but also embarrassing. But what the heck. My poor mama. The wonderful thing is they all really like her: she is so stylish, even in her dementia, with lovely clothes and she still puts on her face every morning. I tell her she is an inspiration.

My sister called wanting to know how the meeting went and Webster and I told her, so then she cried, too. We were never a crying family but I guess age changes everything.

And now I'm going to brush my teeth and go to bed and listen to Georgia and Karen. They always cheer me up.